It was the week before the farmer’s son was to be married that Patrick was finally jogged out of his haze. The young man found himself running all over town more often than the fields as the day approached. New shoes needed to be made, the banquet had to be organized, and Patrick found himself the designated messenger between the groom and bride’s families.

It was in one of his daily rushes to deliver the news that a roast would have to be acquired by new means that Patrick found himself just barely making it out of the way of a cart and directly into the way of a bucket of water being carried past. Half its contents splashed across the already muddy road as the carrier stumbled away.

Patrick turned to apologize but the words escaped him as he was faced by an undeniable beauty. Porcelain skin, sharp eyes, long lashes, a perfect nose, dark lips; it was as though someone had brought to life a doll. Their strange violet hair had more in common with silk and was drawn over their right shoulder to plainly expose their left ear where an odd rectangular earring hung. Embedded in it was a gem that glowed golden in the light.

Their clothes were foreign, though they certainly looked high class, and hugged an hourglass frame the farmer’s wife, who’d worn corsets her entire life, could only dream to possess. Their wide shoulders only accentuated the shape. Despite their mostly feminine appearance they still stood almost as tall as Patrick and had no chest to speak of. If asked to identify if they had been a man or woman Patrick would be at a loss.

The noble individual kept their eyes on the bucket as it steadied. It looked out of place in their gloved hands. By the time Patrick found himself able to snap back to reality the stranger had turned their attention to him. Their perfectly shaped eyebrows knitted together as their lips pursed. “Excuse you, watch where you are going!”

“I’m sorry.” The simple apology was all Patrick could muster.

The noble didn’t seem pleased with Patrick’s muttering. “Look what you have done, it’s almost empty!”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated in a barely audible mumble.

The noble huffed. “Is that all you can say?” Their expression turned miserable as they lifted the bucket to their chest. “Now I have to go back. What if someone else is using the well now though? What if it’s empty? Oh, it’ll be night before…” Patrick just watched as the violet stranger seemed to slowly work themselves up into tears over a bucket of water.

In the end, Patrick found himself at the town well, pumping a full bucket for a living doll who took it and waltzed away with slightly red eyes and a mumbled thank you to the young man. It was an odd encounter, to say the least, and Patrick spent the rest of the day in a slightly confused haze thinking about the beautiful stranger. The odd encounter inexplicably brought back memories he hadn’t thought of in years.

The day of the wedding arrived. A large portion of the townsfolk were there, just pleased to have a reason to celebrate instead of nervously awaiting the day the plague returned. It was a strange sight to Patrick, watching a wedding without Father Matthew presiding over it. It seemed wrong to him somehow and at the back of his mind, something tugged him away from his work the following day.

Patrick found himself at the entrance of the old abbey. The gardens had long grown over and it looked as though it were robbed at some point. Through one of the broken windows, Patrick spotted a light from inside. Slowly, he stepped into the building.

The light was close by, part of what looked to be a small camp, belonging to a pair of little girls, with old blankets and a handful of belongings. Patrick almost turned back around and ran out the door when he laid eyes on the girls’ blistered faces and blackened hands. He steeled himself and made his way deeper into the abbey. Further within, he found more camps with others in similar or worse states. The plague, Patrick realized with horror.

And yet as he reached the heart of the building he found a group of folks who, while scarred, seemed perfectly healthy. “What’s going on here?” He asked them.

An older man locked eyes with Patrick before pointing him towards the doors of the chapel. A soft glow emanated from the room beyond. Patrick took a breath, preparing himself for whatever lay ahead. For the first time in six years, he pushed open the door to the abbey chapel.

The bowls Patrick recalled they had used to hold holy water now sat at either side of the entrance, filled with nearly pure white sand. The pews were either gone or in ruins. Anything remotely of value had been cleared out by the nuns or thieves. The central angelic statue was knocked over, its apathetic face shattered. The only thing remaining intact was the altar and the other two statues.

And under the left statue was the noble, bathed in the light of a single candle which their earring and even the soft glow from their hair seemed to overpower. They were facing towards the statue, sitting on a small stool and looking down at someone lying still on a blanket. A bucket of water sat next to them.

Distracted by the sight, Patrick at first didn’t notice the movement in the two bowls until a small bell rang in his ears. The sand slowly shook away, floating into the air and creating a cloud of dust as though in water. Two tiny creatures emerged from the clouds of sand. For a moment Patrick mistook them for strange flounders before they separated from the dust enough to get a better look. Their white, almond-shaped bodies were closer to the size of a date and encompassed by a flowing silky sheet. They possessed no eyes or mouth or even limbs, with the only other feature being three diamond marks on either side of their little bodies.

They floated through the air much like the sand, twisting and twirling as freely as fish in a river. They made their way across the room, making tiny chime-like noises every time they bobbed around.  Eventually, they guided themselves to the noble’s side, swimming around them until they paid attention and allowed one to rest down in their palm. In the dim glow of the room, the noble seemed even lovelier than before.

The creatures chimed once again, louder this time, which seemed to cause the violet stranger to turn their attention to Patrick. Their worried expression quickly twisted into annoyance. “Can I help you? I’m busy.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said to them once again.

The words jogged the noble’s memory. “You’re that clumsy man. What do you want? Why are you here?”

“Um…” He didn’t know what he could say. After waiting for a moment the noble huffed and turned back to the person lying in front of them. “You’re all unfathomable.” They muttered as the fish-like creatures swam off. One nearly bumped straight into Patrick as he began to approach.

On the ground lay a young woman, her hands completely black with gangrene and face a rotting mess. The noble hung over her, worriedly rolling their earring between their fingers as they examined her blisters. “Is she dead?” Patrick asked nervously.

The noble whipped around towards the young man, their eyes aflame with rage. “She’s not! I can fix her!” They snapped as they violently grabbed at a strangely made bottle. The fish floated down to their master and followed their hand across the woman’s chest. A mist trailed behind them, sinking into her skin. Soon her breaths became more visible as the noble and fish moved on to her limbs.

Patrick watched in fascination as the woman’s wounds began to lighten, broken skin peeling and healing itself before his eyes. By the time the noble leaned back, while she hadn’t been fully healed, the woman looked as though she might at least survive the night. It was then, with the blisters removed, that Patrick realized she was the wife of their neighbour whose husband had claimed she’s gone on a trip to her mother’s the other day.

“It’s in the late stages already, her hand cannot be saved.” The noble announced with anguish, holding her still blackened hand in their gloved one.

“Are you healing them?” Patrick asked, dumbfounded.

“If they are not then the bacterium will spread again, and everyone will become ill.” The noble stood up. The creatures, which had floated off elsewhere in the chapel, returned with a thin blanket following behind them. The blanket settled onto the ill woman as though it had been blown onto her. The nobleman sat down at the altar with a sigh. Patrick followed after. “Are you not sick?”

“Impossible.” Was all they said. Patrick took a deep breath.

“Are you…”

“Am I?

“Are you an angel?”

“I am Raphael, is there a problem?” they asked defensively. The fish tightened their path around them. Patrick shook his head. Raphael watched him for another moment out of caution before muttering something that caused the fish to swim away. They slowly returned, guiding the tools lying around the woman back where the angel must have been keeping them.

Patrick couldn’t contain his curiosity. “What are they?”

The angel stared at him in confusion as they held out their hand for the creatures. “What?”

“Those fish things, what are they? Are they alive?” He elaborated as he reached out towards one. Raphael’s eyes seemed to light up as they held the creature up closer to their face. “Piscaac and Fishmael?”

Patrick stared at the violet angel in disbelief. Their face turned pink and they brought the fish closer to their chest. “What? They’re my fish, I can name them whatever I wish to!” They muttered as they stumbled back to their feet and walked off. “I made them, they’re my tools. Everyone has tools for their job, do they not?”

Patrick was dumbfounded. The angel continued to mutter to themselves as they went about cleaning. At one point Patrick was sure he heard ‘idiot’ thrown his way. “Do you know Uriel?” Patrick finally asked.

“Don’t mention that awful person’s name in my presence, human!” Raphael shouted as they covered their ears like a child. “Nothing good has ever come about from invoking him, he only cares to learn!”

“Uriel used to watch over this chapel!” Patrick attempted to explain but Raphael shook their head, a genuine anger burning in their eyes. The fish vibrated around them. “Uriel has never unconditionally presided over a church in his life! He is rotten, his words mean nothing and his actions are lies. If he was here then he must have had some sort of experiment in progress whether you knew of it or not!” Raphael’s voice boomed through the entire chapel.

“He said he was protecting us from the plague,” Patrick said weakly. Raphael’s nose scrunched up. “Protect? Of all of us, he could have… No, forget that awful person ever existed. This is my chapel now, I claimed it!” The angel stomped back over to the sleeping woman and sat down. “This is a place for the ill and the needy if you try to say otherwise I’ll smite you!”

Patrick raised his hands defensively. “I don’t plan to do any such thing!” Raphael glared suspiciously at the young man but soon they turned back to the woman. “Then why are you here? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“I came here for the book,” Patrick explained.

“A book?”

“It’s very large and heavy. It was Father Matthew’s before he died.” He motioned towards the altar. “He kept it on the altar so that we may read it.”

Raphael’s head tilted in thought before they turned to Patrick. “Very well, if that’s all.” The fish floated behind the altar and swam back to their master with the book. It was a smaller than Patrick remembered it being when he was a child. The fish let it fall into Raphael’s hands who held it out towards Patrick. As he grabbed it, however, the angel held tight so it would not escape. “Can you even read it?”

“No?”

“Then what is the point of giving such a lovely book to someone such as you?” Patrick’s heart sank as the angel, despite their thin frame, easily yanked the book back from him.

Raphael brought the book to their chest, examining it and then looking to Patrick. “Right, you may have it once you’ve learned.” They decided as the fish returned to place it back.

“Huh?”

“When you learn to read I’ll give you the book. Do you have difficulty hearing?”

“Where am I supposed to learn?” He asked incredulously. Raphael gave a confused look. “Where? Here. I’ll teach you. For all the trouble you have caused you owe me to learn to read our words.”

The situation had gotten out of his hands. Patrick numbly nodded in agreement. For the first time that evening the angel’s expression softened. It slowly turned into a warm smile as their hand once more rose to clutch their earring lightly. “Very well, return tomorrow. You can aid me with these poor humans as well while you’re here.”

“What about my work?” Patrick asked.

“This is your work now.”